


Man Friday

by Pouxin



Category: The Eagle (2011) RPF, The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Marcus likes croissants, Pining, Students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pouxin/pseuds/Pouxin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to <a href="http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/2834.html?thread=3639058#t3639058">this prompt</a> at the eagle_kink: "Marcus and Esca are friends, maybe even flatmates. The thing is, Esca sleeps with a different person every other night but he never tries to get into Marcus's pants, even though he's pretty flirtatious in their everyday interactions. Maybe Marcus is pining after him, maybe he just feels sort of offended and left out, either way, there is a point when he just can't take it anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man Friday

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: A bit of slut-shaming from Marcus - he needs to work through all the repression...

**#1 Tahar**

 

On Monday morning before lectures there’s a random guy in Marcus’s kitchen. Sitting at Marcus’s table, eating one of the croissants Marcus had been saving – _saving_ – as a special treat for after rugby practice. With Marcus’s jam. Obviously. Cottia and Esca seem to live exclusively off a diet of super noodles, chocolate spread, and vodka, so there’s no way they’d have anything vaguely breakfast-appropriate in the house. Marcus sighs expansively. He supposes he should be used to this by now. But somehow, every time Esca brings some new guy back to the house, it grates on him just that little bit more. Like a splinter under his thumb nail that he just can’t shift.

“Hi,” he says coolly, looking irritably at the croissant. It looks good. Soft and buttery.

“’allo,” says the randomer. Oh great. He’s European. How Esca.

“Marcus.”

“I’m Tahar.” Marcus wants to say ‘whatever’, but he restricts himself to a curt nod, as he pours himself a bowl of cheerios. Not his first choice, but it’s impossible to get decent cereal in this country. 

Esca breezes in. 

“Hello darling,” he gives Marcus’ ass a little pat as he passes by where he is stood eating at the counter.

“Whatever.” Marcus feels better now he has let the ‘whatever’ out of his system. He tries to load the word as heavily as possible, hoping it coveys the full extent of his disdain for Esca, and his lifestyle, and the fact he can’t even be bothered to provide food for his dates so they end up eating Marcus’s pastries. _Marcus’s_. The guy – Tahar – whatever – now has his hands all over Esca as well as Marcus’s croissant. _Marcus’s!_ Esca is only wearing a ridiculous pair of purple and green stripy briefs, so the guy – Taharwhatever – has access to a lot of Esca’s clean pale skin. And twisty blue tattoos. It’s not really the kind of thing Marcus needs to see at this time in the morning. He shovels his cheerios into his mouth with a borderline murderous rage, chewing angrily.

“Have you ever heard anyone chew so loudly?” Esca is asking Taharwhatever. “He’s like a cow at the cud.”

Marcus makes a mental note to put some potato peelings in Esca’s chocolate spread. Or maybe some arsenic in his vodka. Taharwhatever finishes the croissant, and Esca escorts him to the door. There’s some long wet noises that Marcus tries determinedly not to listen to. Cottia scampers into the kitchen in an oversized snoopy t-shirt, with her big _cor-check-him-out_ eyes on her. She wears these in response to a lot of Esca’s “dates”, even though most of them are only passably attractive, at best. In Marcus’s opinion.

“Fit!” she pantomime mouths at Marcus. She wipes her brow dramatically and lounges against the sideboard. When she sees Marcus is not going to play along with her she pouts, and starts pouring a bowl of Marcus’s cheerios. 

“Those are mine.”

“I’ll buy some next time,” Cottia promises, and then dropping a kiss of Marcus’s cheek, “thank you lovely,” she races back out the kitchen again. “I’m late for my lecture!”

Marcus starts on the mountain of washing up that has been left to fester in the sink over the weekend. Esca shambles back into the kitchen.

“Oh good, you’re washing up. I’ve got some stuff in my room. Hang on.”

“Esca!” Marcus practically explodes. “I’m not some sort of maid service. If you want some washing up done, I suggest you do it yourself. This –“ he points expansively, “is the sink. You may not have made its acquaintance before. Sink, this is Esca.”

Esca rolls his eyes. “Jeez, Marcus. Fine, _I’ll_ do the washing up. Stand aside.” He nudges Marcus out of the way with his hip. “What’s wrong with you this morning?” Marcus absently fingers the patch of skin where Esca had touched him.

“Nothing - I’m just fed up of you treating our home like a two-bit knocking shop.”

“Marcus. It’s a student house. It _wants_ to be treated like a two-bit knocking shop. It _needs_ to be treated like a two-bit knocking shop. It’s crying out for it. Listen.” He pauses theatrically, hand cupped to his ear. “Escaaaaaa…. Escaaaaaa…. Please take some pretty boys into me and fuck them in the kitchen.”

“You’d better not have. That’s just…unsanitary.”

“I guess you’ll never know.”

Marcus shudders. “You are a disgusting human being.”

“I know,” Esca says gleefully, “Don’t you just love me?”

Marcus’ heart gives a weird sort of thump in his chest. He doesn’t answer. He leaves the kitchen.

 

**#2 Pip**

On Tuesday – unbelievably – there is another, different, but just as random guy in Marcus’s kitchen. This one has the same dark, brooding features as yesterday’s, but he’s skinnier, and his nose looks like it might have been broken. Marcus has no idea why Esca goes for these anemic, sultry types. Doesn’t he want someone who looks like they’ve had a decent meal once in the past few weeks? And seen a bit of sun? Or someone with a bit of…bulk. It’s not like Esca doesn’t take care of himself. Even though he’s slight, he’s pretty built. They often go running together in the evenings. Esca is quick. Quick and strong. He’s…

“Hi, I’m Pip,” the guy is saying with one of those posh English accents, so unlike Esca’s gentle burr, cutting through Marcus’s reverie of _Esca’s ass in running shorts_? Why was he thinking about that? 

“Marcus,” Marcus grumbles, reluctantly shaking the guy’s proffered hand. Christ knows where that’s been. 

“Is there any food in here?”

“Super noodles.”

“Oh, right,” Pipwhatever smiles and laughs, awkwardly. Marcus regards him blankly. It is **not** his job to make Esca’s pick-ups feel comfortable. “Well, I guess I’d better be going. Lectures start in an hour.”

“I guess.” 

“Right, well it was nice meeting you…”

“Marcus.”

“Marcus, of course.” Marcus just glares at him until he leaves the kitchen. When he hears the door bang he gives a sigh of relief, and retrieves his cheerios from where he has hidden them at the back of the cleaning cupboard, safe in the knowledge the chances of Esca and Cottia ever opening it to get to any bleach or furniture polish are close to zero. He’s just poured himself some orange juice and sat down at the table when Cottia and Esca tumble into the kitchen like puppies, laughing and prodding at each other.

“Oh, wow, orange juice!” Cottia exclaims. 

“Yes. Orange juice. My orange juice.”

“I’ll get some next time,” she says, tipping some into a wine glass off the draining board. “Thanks lovely.”

“One of your improbably named dates was just here,” Marcus says blandly. “At least this one didn’t eat my croissant.”

“Oh but he ate my croissant,” Esca breathes happily. “We had some lovely croissant-neuf as the French might say.” 

“I didn’t get to see this one,” Cottia pouts. “Was he good looking Marcus?”

Marcus shrugs. “Not especially.”

“That French one yesterday was gorgeous.”

“I know, right?” Esca says enthusiastically. “He had the most amazing cock as well, it was…”

“Esca, for Christ’s sake! No one wants to hear about some French guy’s genatalia. It’s 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“8 o’cock,” says Cottia. 

“And it was! 8 inches o’cock. Lovely stuff.”

“ESCA!” Marcus practically explodes. 

“Jesus. Are all Americans this uptight about sex, or is it just you? I’m sure you’ve seen one before. We all have them.”

“I don’t,” Cottia says glumly. “It’s been so long since I’ve had one I’ve forgotten what they look like.” 

Esca comes over to where she is sitting and leans over her, resting his chin on her shoulder, then snaps out the elastic at the waist of his boxers. “Have a little look here if you like. I wouldn’t normally show it to girls, but you are so stupendously beautiful I’ll make an exception. Any man who doesn’t want to show his to you is a total idiot.”

“Esca!” Cottia is giggling like a schoolgirl. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake! No one is safe from you. It’s like some sort of one man campaign to sleep with everyone on campus. I give up.” And with that Marcus huffs out of the kitchen.

 

**#3 Mark**

On Wednesday Marcus enters the kitchen to find Esca having a cup of coffee with Cottia and yet another guy. Marcus feels his eyes bug a little bit. This is pretty excessive, even for Esca. This guy is older, more sophisticated looking, clearly not a student. He’s wearing a _suit_. An expensive looking one at that. Again he’s slim, with eyes so dark they’re almost black and brooding sooty brows. Esca certainly has his type. Esca is wearing Marcus’s dressing gown. For some reason, instead of making Marcus angry, this makes his stomach swoop a little bit. 

“Marcus!” Esca exclaims brightly. “This is Mark. What you’d be called if your parents weren’t such enormous ponces!”

Marcus grits his teeth. “My parents aren’t _enormous ponces,_ Esca. I’m _Italian American_. We’ve been through this.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” Markwhatever says smoothly. He really is pretty old. 40 maybe? But Marcus has to grudgingly admit he looks good on it. He looks sort of sleek and suave, feline, powerful. Not that he’s Marcus’s type. Marcus’s type is more… well… He looks at Esca. 

“Well, I’d better be going,” Mark is saying. “I should be in the office already.”

“No one will care,” Esca is saying, “you’re the boss.” He’s practically purring. It fills Marcus with an irrational rage. 

“Exactly. Lead by example and all that.” He drops a careless kiss onto Esca’s messy hair, and then heads out the kitchen.

“Have a good day. Cottia. Marcus. Lovely to meet you both”

_Whatever_.

When they hear the door slam Cottia practically explodes.

“Ohmigod, Esca, you should marry that one. He was….what a beautiful man.”

“I know. He’s loaded as well.” Esca stretches extravagantly, making his tattoos ripple and flex. “I might see him again.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Marcus mutters darkly. He makes his way over to the – surprise, surprise – enormous pile of washing up which has congregated around the sink. Who would have thought the cooking of super noodles could create so much debris? “Does this mean there’s going to be a stop to the endless merry-go-round of men you parade through our kitchen every morning?”

“Marcus,” Esca admonishes. “I don’t get why you’re being so arsey about this. I’m just enjoying myself. Maybe _you_ should get laid. Might help you work out some of that manly aggression.”

Marcus ignores this. “I’m just saying. You don’t see Cottia bringing some random guy back here every other night.”

“Only for lack of opportunity. If I was as pretty as Esca I’d be lining them up,” Cottia says cheerily, pinching Esca’s cheek as she makes her way over to the sink to deposit her coffee mug in Marcus’s washing up.

“Thank you, darling.” 

“I’m just saying,” Marcus practically growls.

“Awww, he’s just upset you’ve never tried to sleep with _him_ ,” Cottia coos, jabbing at Marcus with her elbow as she stands beside him. 

“I am _not_ ,” Marcus retorts hotly, ears burning. 

“Awwww,” and Esca pouts his perfect lips, making his eyes go wide and kittenish. “That’s because you’re special, baby. You’re the kind of man I want to marry. I’m saving you up.” And he stands up, flicking Marcus’s ass sharply with the end of the tea towel.

“Whatever,” Marcus mumbles, scrubbing ferociously at one of the plates. 

 

**#4 Professor Sutherland**

 

On Thursday morning Professor Sutherland is in Marcus’s kitchen. As in _Professor Sutherland_. As in Head of the English Department. Marcus gapes at him. 

“Ah, Marcus,” Professor Sutherland says easily, as if this sort of thing happens to him every day. “I’ve just washed up my coffee cup. Tell me where it needs to go, and I’ll be off. I have a lecture to give at 9.”

Marcus points wordlessly at the cupboard above the kitchen table, still too shocked to speak. Well, at least he’s not dark and slim. 

After he’s left Marcus sits down at the table, feeling his mind whizzing around and thrumming in his ears. Esca flounces in, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped casually round his snaky hips, and starts opening cupboards seemingly at random, before extracting a jar of peanut butter. Marcus stares at him in mute amazement.

“You… _slept_ …with Professor Sutherland. With _Professor Sutherland_?”

“Yep,” Esca replies, flopping himself languorously down into the chair opposite Marcus.

“Isn’t that like, completely immoral?”

“It’s alright, Marcus. I didn’t ask him to alter the grades on my essays or anything. Besides, I don’t need to. He says I’m his _star student_.”

“I bet he does. It’s just….ew.” Marcus shudders elaborately. 

“You should try it, Marcus. Older men. They really know what they’re doing. And they’re a lot more…tender. It’s, kind of...”

“Esca! Stop talking! I have no desire to hear about this, whatsoever.”

“I’m just saying…”

“No. He’s our English professor! Plus, he’s like, what, 60? 70? It’s gross.”

Esca shrugs expansively. “Whatever. You know what they say. All cats look the same in the dark. Even old cats.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Esca just smiles and smears a long stripe of peanut butter down his face, over his mouth and chin. He sticks out his tongue and licks at the knife. “I am, it’s true. Mmmm, peanuty buttery goodness.” 

“You’d better not put that back in the pot.”

“Ooo. Why? What will you do?”

“Esca –“ Marcus says warningly, as Esca slowly, deliberately, digs the knife back in the open jar. Marcus goes to snatch it off him, but Esca is too fast, quick as a cat he darts out of Marcus’ reach, jumping up from the table, before licking the knife again and jamming it back in the peanut butter. “Esca!” Marcus lunges for it again, but Esca swerves to the side, and skitters across the kitchen. “Give me the peanut butter!”

“Say please.”

“Give me the peanut butter!”

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

Marcus doesn’t really know how it happens, but somehow he is chasing Esca round the kitchen, feeling anger and frustration bubble up inside him like a hot geyser as he bangs his hip hard against the edge of the table. Then Esca’s towel starts to slip and he trips and somehow Marcus has him pinned on the floor, half propped against the side of the cabinet. Esca is laughing, breathless, his eyes bright; and then Marcus is laughing too, at himself mainly, for being so ridiculous, anger blowing over as quickly as a summer storm. Esca’s skin feels very soft, pulled tightly over the hard slopes and ridges of muscle underneath. 

“You have peanut butter all over your face.”

“Well, then. We’ll just have to clean it off, won’t we?” Esca flicks the corner of his tongue out, pink and quick, and licks at some of the sweet mess smeared across his mouth and jaw. “Mmmmm. Tastes good. Want some?” He tilts his head towards Marcus and parts his lips invitingly. 

“Um…” Marcus swallows heavily, eyes mesmerized by the hypnotic bow of Esca’s mouth, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close they are, pressed together on the floor, and how little both of them are wearing. His breath hitches in his throat. Esca’s eyes go very dark, steely grey, the lids heavy. 

“Bloody hell boys, what on earth are you doing in here? It sounds like a hoard of sugar-crazed toddlers has descended upon our kitchen.” Cottia comes waltzing into the room in a cloud of Marcus’s body wash, a towel turbaned round her head. Marcus springs away from Esca as if he’s been given an electric shock, scrambling quickly to his feet, and resolutely ignoring the beginnings of the erection which is stirring beneath his track pants. Esca gives him a long, searching look. Marcus looks away, just as Esca’s eyes start to turn almost sad.

“Marcus was just giving me a lesson in condiment etiquette,” Esca says brightly. “Apparently we are not to lick the knife and then put it back in the pot. As the actress said to the bishop.”

“Esca, you have peanut butter all over your face,” Cottia chides.

Marcus feels too hot, his skin feels too tight, prickly. His whole body feels like it might burst. _What is going on_? He leaves the kitchen, without saying anything.

 

**#5 Marcus**

On Friday morning there is another random guy in Marcus’s kitchen. Another one. Even after what happened yesterday, with the peanut butter, and _the look_. The look Marcus has been thinking about all day, and all night, tossing restlessly in his sagging single bed. Esca’s eyes. All dark and wanting. Esca’s lips. Esca. 

The random guy is drinking coffee. Marcus’s coffee. Marcus’s nice, expensive coffee that his Uncle brought him back from Italy. From _Marcus’s mug_. Something inside Marcus snaps.

“Right, that’s _enough_!” he shouts. “I don’t care what your name is, or what you study, I just want you to put down _my_ coffee and get out of _my_ house. Get out. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout.”

“Alright, Jesus, man, chill out,” randomguy says placating, putting the coffee down quickly on the sideboard. “I’m going.”

Esca appears in the doorway. “What’s going on? Why is everyone shouting.”

Randomguy shrugs and starts towards the door. “Don’t ask me man. This dude just turned up and started going apeshit. I’ll see you around.” He puts a hand lightly on the sleeve of Esca’s t-shirt.

“And stop touching _my_ flatmate!” Marcus shouts after him. Esca just stares at him with flinty disbelief until they hear the door shut.

“What the fuck, Marcus?”

“I’m just fed up of all your slutty little boyfriends clogging up the kitchen and eating _my_ food and drinking _my_ coffee and putting their hands all over you. OK?”

“No,” Esca’s voice is cold and hard. “Not OK. That guy was my _guest_. You can’t just come in and start screaming at him. We all have to live here. And it is not OK for you to start acting like my dad. Or some sort of jealous boyfriend.”

“I’m not acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

“You are totally acting like a jealous boyfriend. ‘Stop touching MY flatmate’. What the fuck was that all about?”

“I just don’t want to watch them…pawing at you. Constantly.”

“Why?”

“Because….because…” Marcus struggles helplessly. 

“You know what, just forget it. You’re so repressed it’s untrue.” Esca spins on his heels and starts to head out of the kitchen. Marcus feels his heart give a desperate clench. He has to do something – now. He can’t just let Esca leave the kitchen. He can’t just let Esca leave…him. Before he can really think about what he’s doing he crosses the kitchen in three long strides, and wraps one hand around Esca’s bicep, fisting in his t-shirt, spinning Esca round forcefully, so they’re facing each other. 

“Ow! Marcus-“

But he silences Esca with his mouth, pressing his lips, hot and hard, against the perfect succulent bow of Esca’s, hands cupped against the sides of Esca’s narrow face, using his bulk to slam Esca backwards into the doorframe. Esca gives a soft huff of surprise, but then his lips part slowly, and he lets Marcus slide his tongue into the delicate welcoming wetness of his mouth. Esca tastes of morning breath and cigarettes and last night’s beer, but to Marcus it’s the most amazing taste in the world, because it’s Esca. His Esca. In his arms. Finally. Where he belongs. Where he’s always belonged, Marcus realizes. Esca’s own tongue flickers, sampling the plumpness of Marcus’ bottom lip, and Marcus moans helplessly, feeling want and love cascade over him in a hot flurry of stars, his heart thundering in his ears. His hands had been hard, wrapped around Esca’s angular cheekbones so he couldn’t pull away, but now he softens them, stroking, wondrous. Esca’s beautiful face. He licks at the sides of Esca’s mouth, bites at his lip. When he pulls away Esca is breathing hard, staring at him with shocked pleasure.

“How’s that for repressed?”

“Uh,” Esca manages, before pulling Marcus back in for another kiss.

And if Marcus has his way no one is going to be at his breakfast table tomorrow but him and Esca. Or Sunday. Or Monday. Or ever again.


End file.
